


To Remain Breathing

by DopeyTheDwarf



Category: Dead To Me (TV)
Genre: Can be read as pre-relationship or friendship, F/F, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Post-Season/Series 02, Self-Harm, anniversary effect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:33:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24453724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DopeyTheDwarf/pseuds/DopeyTheDwarf
Summary: Judy only struggles harder in her arms. Her sobs echo in the room, and it’s all Jen could do to stifle her own. Anger bubbles in her chest. The urge to scream claws under her ribs. She wants to smash all of the people who ever hurt Judy. Hit them. Bang their heads to the ground until they bleed. And then start all over again until her blood has settled.But the people who deserve her wrath are long gone, and instead, her best friend is on her knees blaming herself for sins that have never been hers in the first place.
Relationships: Judy Hale & Jen Harding, Judy Hale/Jen Harding
Comments: 20
Kudos: 129





	To Remain Breathing

Between her confession, resignation, car crash, and concussion, it takes two weeks before Jen feels safe enough to breathe. She walks through her new house, takes in the new colors and decors that she had chosen in the hopes of at long last burying Ted’s and Steve’s ghosts. She inhales the scents around her. And at long last, Jen exhales.

Her sons had fallen asleep a while ago. As her habit now on long nights like these, she checks each of them one by one. She counts Henry’s breaths and listens to Charlie’s snoring. Some days, the urge to touch them - to make sure they’re still solid and real and _here_ \- gets overwhelming, and sometimes Jen gives in. The last year has been filled with so much loss and fear, she’s sometimes surprised she’s still standing - that none of them have crumbled from the weight of their grief and her secrets.

Tonight was one of the easier nights. Henry is curled around his pillow, hair sticking up in odd directions, and Jen lets herself breathe with him just to be sure. Charlie’s snore is loud enough to be heard from where she stands, and she lets that be enough. She hasn’t lost them. It’s hard not to add the _yet_ , but Jen tries. After all of their close calls, she can only hope that this time her effort will be enough to keep them together.

She always saves Judy for last. They sleep together on her huge bed, but there is a gravity to Judy when asleep that just takes Jen’s breath away. Some days, she wonders if she’ll float away should Judy ever disappear from her life. Her breath hitches at the mere thought of losing her, and it takes a minute before she manages to swallow the stone in her throat.

Asleep like this, Judy Hale is so beautiful, it makes Jen’s heart ache. The lines around her eyes soften, and her body gets loose and limp. It took her way too fucking long to notice, but Judy holds herself like she’s bracing for a hit. She is always curled into herself even as she reaches out to everyone else. Asleep like this, she looks so much more relaxed, and Jen cherishes these moments.

She tucks Judy’s hair behind her ear and just watches as she snuffles in her sleep. The blankets almost swallow her whole, and she shifts a little, nuzzling Jen’s hand as it lingers on her face. Judy sighs, and it’s like a weight lifts off Jen's shoulders. When she finally settles into the bed, she squeezes Judy’s hand one more time before at long last drifting to sleep.

\------

The dream starts as it usually does. She is standing by the pool, and a body is floating on the water. The colors are muted except for the blood on his head, in the water, and on her hands. Most days, the body is Steve’s, but sometimes it’s Ted’s. Other days, it’s Charlie’s or Henry's. There would be no sound except for the wind and the chirping of birds

Today, it’s Judy’s, and as she walks closer to where her body floats, eyes open and lifeless, Jen hears her own voice.

_“You can disappear off the face of the earth.”_

_“You could die…”_

The words echo in her head and in the air, and no matter what she does, they only get louder and louder the closer she gets to Judy. When she finally reaches her, the voices turn shrill and accusing, and even as Jen pulls Judy’s body out of the water, she knows for a fact that it was her who killed her best friend.

When Jen jolts awake, Judy is immediately there, cradling her as she cries. The feeling of fear and guilt lingers still. Her own skin feels tight and suffocating, and Judy’s hug is much too warm. Then she remembers how cold Judy’s hand was in her dream - how still and lifeless she was. A chill runs down her spine, and before she knows it, she is running her hands over Judy’s head, looking for the blood that was never there.

But Jen can still _feel_ it, on her fingers, by the side of her arm and on her face.

“FUCK!” 

She scrambles for the toilet, barely managing to shut the door before leaning over and puking her guts out. Judy is right there beside her, pulling her hair, and it only makes Jen cry harder. Judy’s hands are more gentle than she will _ever_ fucking deserve.

“I’m really fucking sorry about this, Jude.” Judy hands her a tissue, and it’s all Jen can do not to flinch at her touch. _Fuck all of this._ “It’s too early for this shit.”

“No, it’s okay. Nightmares happen to everyone.” And truly they do. Jen knows too well all the ways Judy begs for forgiveness in her sleep. “Is it the same one?”

Jen groans. “No. And I don’t fucking want to talk about it.”

Seeing Judy’s face fall, the guilt flares again, but she knows herself and she knows Judy. She _will_ start crying the moment she opens her fucking mouth, and there’s no fucking way she’d let Judy be the one to comfort her when they finally talk about the suicide bullshit. She might actually go crazy if Judy starts fucking apologizing for fucking trying to kill herself.

“I’m not - I’m not fucking ready yet, Jude, okay? Maybe in the morning?” Jen tries to smile. Fails fucking miserably if Judy’s face is anything to go by. “Can I have a hug, though?”

That cheers Judy up enough to soften the lines on her face, and for the first time since she woke up, Jen’s skin settles just a little. She soaks up Judy’s warmth and lets her touch linger just a little, still trying to make sure that Judy is not a dream.

When they both settle for bed again, Judy keeps a hold of her hand as if knowing she needs her touch. They fall asleep, fingers intertwined, and Jen’s nightmares stay away for the rest of the night.

\------

Jen does not ask about Judy’s suicide attempt the next day. Or week. Or month. As much as she loves to think she’s tough, the thought of bringing up fucking _suicide_ on a nice day makes her stomach churn - and it seems outright cruel to bring it up on a bad one. So Jen keeps quiet, and the world turns as it always has. 

The problem starts on Tuesday. When she gets up, Judy is not only awake but already elbow deep in balled-up pieces of paper. She is furiously sketching on a new piece, but it doesn’t take long for her to crumple that too. Suddenly, she sits ramrod straight and slaps her face over and over. Heart sinking into her guts, it’s all Jen could do to scramble up and hold her arm still until whatever that fit was passes.

“Jude” - she pulls her into a huge hug - “are you okay? What the fucking hell was that?”

Her voice becomes much sharper than she intended, and Judy startles. She looks up, and Jen’s stomach drops at the hollowness of her eyes. “I’m fine. Just, my head is full of cobwebs today. Today’s energies are just… bad. I guess. Sorry.” 

“Fucking really, now?”

Judy smiles, but her face crinkles in all the wrong places, and it takes everything in Jen to not grab her by the shoulders and shake this fucking secret out of her. “Probably why I’m acting a bit nuts. Sorry for waking you so early.”

“God, Judy. You’re not nuts.” Fucking Steve. And it speaks of how bad today is that Judy only looks away.

“Um, how about coffee?” There are a million questions swirling in Jen’s head right now. Judy though looks like she wants to disappear off the goddamn earth, so Jen bites her tongue and hopes to hell keeping quiet is the right thing to do. “Maybe coffee will, you know, lighten up the energies or something? What d’you think?”

“Sounds good.”

“Hey, if you want to rest a bit, I can start breakfast too.”

Judy chuckles, and Jen feels herself exhale with relief. “I promised Henry chocolate-chip pancakes today. His little highness might stage a protest.”

And really, the joke isn’t that funny, but Judy’s eyes clear just a little, and Jen throws her head back and laughs as hard as she dares. Judy packs up all the crumpled paper, and they both head down to the kitchen, Jen making a beeline for the coffeemaker. 

When the kids come down, Judy looks for all the world as if nothing went wrong that morning. She kisses Henry good morning and banters with Charlie before setting beautiful breakfasts for all of them. They joke. She laughs, and the knot in Jen’s chest loosens just a little at the wonderful sound. When they finally part for their respective workplaces, Jen can at least pretend that everything’s just fine. 

And fucking god, she hopes to hell she’s right - that the day will only get better from here on out.

\------

The day does get better. But the week gets fucking worse.

It’s like a huge weight has settled on Judy’s shoulders overnight. Jen had not caught her hitting herself again, but that doesn’t mean much of anything these days. Each movement looks almost laborious on Judy. It’s as if there are weights tied on her wrist and ankles, on her hips and her neck.

Judy wakes up, and she spends half an hour just staring blankly at the ceiling. She gets up, and she looks so fucking _exhausted_ at moving even just that much. Then she preps breakfast for all of them but does not make herself a plate, citing an early morning at the facility. She goes to bed at 8 pm after making them dinner. She says she already ate, but Jen knows better. Already, she’s going through what kind of soup she can make that won’t poison her friend. By Thursday night, Jen’s practically begging for a fever to form.

All the while, Judy smiles as if nothing’s wrong - as if none of them can see the way her eyes glaze. She drifts away in the middle of conversations, her voice growing quieter and quieter until she stops talking at all. Exhaustion radiates from every movement, and it’s all Jen can do to stop herself from just begging Judy to stay home and rest. Least of all because every time Jen so much as _allude_ that something might be wrong, Judy doubles down on the act of fucking creepy normalcy. 

And then Judy goes to bed Friday night and doesn’t get up for the next two days.

Sunday night, she tucks the boys in bed. When Henry asks what’s going on with Judy, she has no good answer to give except that she’d make sure to take very good care of her. Henry nods, promises to make Judy pancakes again. He strokes the wooden bird with no tail and asks Jen to make sure Judy knows he loves her. The request feels like a slap to the face, and she can only nod - a bit numbly - before kissing his forehead and turning off the lights. 

By the time she closes the door, a tear is sliding down her cheek. Fear threatens to choke her. Jen fucking wishes this was just the flu. She has two boys - she knows full well she can deal with a fever - but the glaze in Judy’s eyes looks less like fever and more like grief. The kind that had her staring out the window for _hours_ , voice flat, eyes glazed and scaring the shit out of Jen. She remembers Judy’s confession all those months ago, and Jen hopes to hell she’s fucking wrong.

There is already a pot of soup being heated when Jen finally stumbles back into the kitchen. Charlie is stirring it slowly, and on the counter, there is a tray loaded with bread and a mug of Judy’s favorite tea. He looks up when she enters. Her son flushes red before clearing his throat and going back to the soup.

“Judy forgets to eat when she’s not feeling well.” He wrings his wrist, and Jen can practically see the questions bursting out of him.

She’s too tired for this. “Just spit it out, Char.”

“This isn’t just the flu, is it?” The soup he’s ladling sloshes as his hands shake, and for the millionth time this week, Jen’s heart breaks. “It happened too when you guys got back from the hospital last year.”

“Char…”

“I’m not fucking stupid, mom.” He straightens up, looks her in the eye, and Jen can’t help but wonder when he had grown up so much. “She isn’t coughing. There’s no fever, and you aren’t giving her any Tylenol or stuff like that. I checked.”

“I know you’re not stupid. But…” _You’re too young for shit like this._

“But what?” He sets the soup on the tray. “Is she dying or something? Coz I think Henry might actually go crazy if he loses Judy too.”

And really, that _is_ their truth these days. Judy is invaluable to them now. “I don’t know, Charlie. She hasn’t been up for much talking lately.”

Charlie doesn’t say anything. He occupies himself with the tray arranging and rearranging the bread and the bowl until even Jen could say it looks pretty. He pushes the tray to her, eyes still not meeting her gaze. He swallows hard, and it’s Jen only has a second to brace herself before she has an armful of teenager, desperate for comfort - even if he won’t say that out loud.

“We’ll all take care of her, okay?” She kisses his hair and feels him nod onto her shoulder. “Now let’s get this soup up to her.”

When he lets go, Jen misses him immediately. But Charlie is already handing her the tray. He smirks and the weight on Jen’s chest eases just a little. “Well, I couldn’t let you poison her, mom.”

“When did you even learn to cook?” The soup smells wonderful, and it definitely did not come from a can. Much better than all the sludge she’s been feeding Judy at least.

Charlie pauses. “Judy taught me.”

And Jen’s heart fucking shatters all over again.

\------

Judy manages to choke down half the soup. She looks green by the end of it, and it’s Jen who tells her to stop because she knows full well that Judy would push herself beyond all sane boundaries for just about anyone. But especially the boys.

“Charlie will forgive you for not finishing the soup.” Jen jokes. “He won’t forgive me if I let you choke on it - which might put him off soup forever.”

The quip makes Judy smile just a little. “That’d be sad. He’s getting really good at it.”

“You’re telling me. I’m really fucking glad he didn’t inherit my cooking skills.”

“You’re not that bad,” Judy rasps out. 

Her smile is still in place, but the lines around her eyes are that of strain and not happiness. It makes Jen want to wack her on the head. Judy’s in enough pain to be bedridden, but her first priority is still _everyone_ but herself. It might be nice on good days, but days like these? The martyr complex makes it almost impossible to take care of her.

Thank fuck Jen’s learned to imagine red balloons and count to ten instead.

She puts the tray away. Jen had spent hours googling what the fuck she was supposed to do now. And as much as she comforts herself with the fact that Judy had not started talking about dying or shit like that, the idea had stuck itself in her brain like fucking gum on shoes. She looks at Judy’s lifeless eyes, and her confession all those months ago echoes in Jen’s head over and over and over again.

_I was gonna kill myself_. At this rate, those words will haunt her to her grave.

Jen does what she can, but these days, even sitting up seems too much for Judy sometimes. Jen has had to frogmarch her to the bathroom more than once, and it’s like she had forgotten about food altogether. The half bowl of soup was already a goddamn miracle, and _that_ scares Jen more than anything else.

Already, Jen can see her strength flagging. She drops that worrying smile, and her eyes droop and glaze. With her gaze so fucking far away, Jen wonders if Judy is seeing her at all. 

“I - I know it got hot today so um” - she holds up a small sponge soaked with water - “I - I can help you wash up for a bit?”

“You’re telling me I stink?”

“I’m telling you google told me that sponge baths can make people feel better.”

She’s hoping for another chuckle or maybe even just a little crinkling of her eyes. But Judy’s face remains blank. Jen chuckles for both of them instead, but the air is so heavy in the room, it suffocates the sound. And Jen’s laughter peters out to nothing, her heart much heavier in the silence.

“I can just take a bath, Jen. You really don’t have to - ” 

“Nope.” Because _fuck_ _that_. The woman is sitting down, and already she looks like she’s about to keel over.

And yes, Judy _could_ take a bath by herself, but the mere thought of her being anywhere near the tub or the razors is already giving Jen a fucking heart attack. She can feel the throb of her own goddamn pulse, and her stomach churns at all the goddamn shitty possibilities.

“Jen… I’m fine.” She shrugs, smiling that strained smile once again. “Stuff like this happens all the time. I can take care of myself.”

“That… that isn’t a fucking good thing, Judy!” Chills are running up Jen’s spine now. How often is _all the time?_ Better yet, how the fuck did she not notice more of this? 

The urge to just fucking hit something is more than overwhelming now. She clenches the sponge as hard as she can, but she fucking _needs_ to hit something until it goddamn breaks. Because the world doesn’t make any goddamn sense right now, and Judy’s talking about depression as debilitating as this as if it’s some goddamn flu!

Jen’s knees go weak. Suddenly, her legs can’t support her anymore, and she barely makes it to their bed before they completely give out from under her. Before she knows it, she’s scooped Judy into her arms, crushing her in the biggest hug she can manage. Sobs are building in her chest, but she’d go to fucking hell first before she’d let Judy carry her pain too. She lets a single tear fall. Then she kisses the side of Judy’s head and hopes to hell Judy gets the fucking message.

“You don’t have to do this all by yourself anymore, Jude. You really don’t!” 

She releases Judy long enough to look her in the eyes. They’re filled with so much wary confusion, and by god, Jen wants to hit every single moron who should have loved her and taken care of her - but failed her at every single fucking turn. 

“Judy, you’ve got family now.” And Jen will personally make sure to remind Judy of this every day if that’s what it takes. “We’re not leaving you behind. You _don’t_ have to do this alone.”

And fuck it all, but Judy’s teary face is all it takes for a desperate _I love you_ to tumble out of Jen’s mouth. Judy says nothing, only buries her head in Jen’s chest. That night she curls herself in the safety of Jen’s arms, and Jen hopes to fucking hell that tonight might be the last of her hell. 

\------

Jen dreams of Judy’s corpse more often now. Most days, it’s the red of Judy’s blood that follows her even as she wakes. Today, it’s the lifeless eyes that haunt her even as the rest of the nightmare fades away. Jen’s much too familiar with those eyes now - sees them in the scant moments Judy drops the facade and just lets herself be. Be numb. Be unhappy. Be in pain.

The dream is less painful than reality sometimes.

Jen doesn’t startle awake anymore. The fear that used to linger in her nightmares has morphed to resignation and she can’t tell which one’s worse. Instead, Jen reaches for Judy’s hand and lets her touch be the comfort. Judy used to squeeze back, but even on the night when she can’t, her warmth is still more than reassurance enough.

Today though, Judy’s side is cold. Jen’s eyes shoot open. Her breath quickens, but no matter where she looks, Judy is nowhere to be seen. She jumps up. Sprints to the bathroom, phone in hand. Already dialing 911. But Judy’s not there. Instead, there are blood splatters all over the walls. Red handprints are everywhere, and Jen wants to curl into a ball and cry. 

She rushes out, breathing too hard. Her heart is throbbing in her ears, and the world is spinning all around her. Jen is running around like a headless chicken. The trail of red wanders around, and she curses her own goddamn house for being too big, too new, too fucking unfamiliar. 

There is no body yet. Jen will fucking hold on to that until Judy fucking proves herself to be fucking dead.

The day is still early enough for both boys to be asleep, so Jen tiptoes around the house determined to make sure they don’t have to see whatever fucking carnage Judy’s left behind. The tears are flowing now, and they’re flowing fast. Sobs burst out of her chest, and it’s all she can do to keep them quiet. Fuck Judy. Fuck her for worming into their lives and then daring to leave them as bereft and hurting and empty. Fuckher _fuckherfuckherfu --_

_“_ FUCK!” 

The word bursts out of her mouth before she can stop herself. The urge to yell out Judy’s name is near overwhelming, and it’s only the memory of Henry’s peaceful breathing that stops Jen cold. She runs faster. The 911 operator keeps asking questions she can’t answer. There’s nobody she can find, no wounds. Only blood. The operator tells her to stay on the phone - that help is coming. But Jen’s no longer listening.

She follows the trail of red, and Jen’s fucking grateful it’s four in the fucking morning because the red in her house is not going to fucking get out on its fucking own. She wonders how the fuck she’s going to explain to this the boys. How the hell do you tell a goddamn fucking _kid_ that someone they loved fucking killed herself? 

The trail of red ends in the room Judy so loves to paint in. Jen moves to open the door, but the knob is slick with blood, and it takes everything in Jen not to puke her guts out. She wonders what she’d find on the other side. Wonders if she’d ever be ready for the sight of Judy’s bo - the sight of _Judy_. Jen tries to take a deep breath, but the iron scent has her choking on her own air. 

Still, there is no body yet. And since Judy is not there to hope, Jen takes it upon herself to do the hoping for both of them.

\------

The picture that greets her when she enters the room looks like a scene from one of those horror movies.

The trail of red didn’t end. It only spread. Bloody handprints mark the door and walls. Red lines the frames and is smudged over the faces of Judy’s dead children. And right in the center of the room is a canvass filled with more blood than paint. The woman in the painting is surrounded by shades of oranges and grays. Her hands are cuffed in front of her body, and from the cuffs are rivers of blood that drip and drip and drip. Down her shirt. Her pants. To the floor. The darkness makes the face hard to see, but Jen recognizes Eleanor Hale anyway.

And there in the corner of the room sits Judy Hale, pale and bloody. But very much alive.

“J - Judy? What the _fuck_ happened here?” Jen’s voice cracks. 

She runs up to her friend, eyes frantically scanning for open wounds. Blood pours out from a broken nose and a split lip, and it’s all Jen could do to not burst out crying right then and there. She reaches or Judy’s wrists, trails her finger over the unbroken skin. There is blood all over her hands and her shirt, but they all seem to come from her face and nowhere else. Jen grabs a rag and attempts to stop the bleeding, but she doesn't know how to touch Judy without hurting her. 

“Nothing.” Her voice echoes in the room. She forces a smile big enough to split her lip further, and despite the rag, the blood only flows faster. “I’m sorry for waking you. I’m going to clean up.”

But she makes no move to get up.

Judy’s eyes look haunted and empty in ways that send chills up Jen’s spine. There are scratches on her knuckles, and two of her fingers are crooked and wrong. It’s not very difficult to put two and two together. Judy hit herself hard enough to split a lip and break her own fucking nose. She got blood on her hands and it’s that that made the trail of red Jen followed here. Jen’s fucking terrible mystery had ended. But there’s no relief.

“Judy… no. _Don’t_ \- ”

“I’m sorry for-” she swallows hard “-for making life so hard.”

“No! Goddamit Judy!” Jen growls. “You didn’t make _anything_ hard! You haven’t ruined anything! You’ve been so goddamn good to us, I never know what we fucking did to deserve you!”

Judy only shakes her head. Tears are sliding down her cheeks. The rag is soaked, and the blood is now tricking down Jen’s arm too. The medics are still not fucking here, and it’s taking everything in Jen not to cuss them all out for their goddamn incompetence. Judy is curling deeper into the dark places in her head - places Jen knows she can’t fucking follow. 

“That painting of your mother - can you, uh, tell me more about it?” Jen’s voice is high-pitched and breaking. “It looks, erm, great!” 

“It was my fault.”

_Shit._

“I got my mother imprisoned today.” Her voice breaks at the word _mother_ , and she looks so fragile, Jen fears a touch will break her. “Did you know it was my testimony that sealed her sentence the first time?”

The glass in Jen’s stomach turns into ice. She looks back at the way blood drips from the cuffs - how at least some that red is Judy’s - and suddenly everything makes twisted sense. The guilt, the depression, the self-harm - the puzzle pieces click together in Jen’s head, and when the full picture comes to light, bile is rising up her throat.

“I sold her off for a piece of candy. An officer handed me a chocolate bar, and I just - I just confessed to everything. Like an idiot.” Judy’s voice drips with so much acid. Her hands are clenched into fists, and it’s all Jen could do not to grab them. “I had it so good, and I just - I _ruined_ our lives, Jen… I ruined us! If I had just shut my fucki-”

“Judy! Jude, that wasn’t your fault!” _Of all the fucking conclusions she could have fucking jumped to!_ “You were a kid who was just trying to do the right thing!”

Judy slaps herself. Hard.

“Judy!” Jen barely manages to stop the second slap. “Judy - Jude, please stop! Stop hurting yourself! Please! It’s not your fault!”

“It _is_ my fault, Jen!” She struggles against Jen’s grip. “Everything’s my fucking fault! So what if I was trying to do the right thing?! My mother’s in prison, Ted’s dead, Steve’s dead, and I’m making your life much harder than it fucking is already!”

“Mylife is much _more beautiful_ for having you in it!” Jen pins Judy’s arms between their bodies, pulling her into a hug so tight, Jen feels her spine pop. “You are not a burden!”

Judy only struggles harder. Her sobs echo in the room, and it’s all Jen could do to stifle her own. Anger bubbles in her chest. The urge to scream claws under her ribs. She wants to smash all of the people who _ever_ hurt Judy. Hit them. Bang their heads to the ground until they bleed. And then start all over again until her blood has settled. 

But the people who deserve her wrath are long gone, and instead, her best friend is on her knees blaming herself for sins that have never been hers in the first place. 

_Fuck them! Fuck all of them!_

By the time the paramedics arrive, the sun is peeking through the horizon. In the light of day, Judy looks even worse. The rag had long since been forgotten, and her mouth is completely covered in blood. Bruises have formed around her eyes, and her nose had swollen to twice its original size. She’s pale and her skin is tinted blue from the building panic attack. And still, she has not once stopped trying to hit herself. She twitches and cries, and Jen can only hold her. She doesn't know how much more her heart can take. 

Jen is drowning in her own helplessness, and before she knows it, she’s yelling her heart out at the hapless paramedics trying to calm them both. Nothing works, and Jen is reduced to begging and blubbering, her body shaking from exhaustion. They take Judy from her arms, and it takes everything in her soul to let go. ‘

With Judy’s weight gone, she feels unsteady and unmoored. The paramedics talk to her in soothing tones, but she isn’t hearing them anymore. Her world is centered on the woman sobbing heart-wrenching apologies at the responders’ feet.

The world becomes too quiet when they sedate Judy, and Jen can only watch as the ambulance drives away.

\------

The boys woke up to the sound of sirens, and when they’ve both raced down, Jen was still standing by the door, staring into the space where the ambulance was. The front of her shirt was soaked with blood, and her hands had begun to itch where the red dried. It looks like she killed somebody, she thinks morbidly. It’d be just her luck if she starts haunting her sons’ nightmares too.

It’s Charlie’s breathless _no_ that shook her out of her stupor, and it’s all she could do to sit them on the sofa and explain - in small shaky words - why there was an ambulance and where Judy was. She tells them the broad strokes - that Judy got hurt and Jen does not know how or why and after they’re done, she’ll chase Judy to find out more. Henry nods acceptingly, but Charlie’s face breaks in the most subtle of ways, and that’s all the clue she needs to understand that he hears more than what she’s trying to say.

She doesn’t notice herself shaking until Charlie wraps a blanket around her shoulders and shoves a glass of water into her hands. He ushers Henry out to go get breakfast, and then he gives her a small pained smile. Nods, as if telling her he understands. 

_He shouldn’t be doing this_. Jen had been so used to protecting them, and she thought she was holding all of them together just fine. Then, Judy’s gone for one fucking morning, and suddenly, she is falling apart. Charlie is trying to be brave, but his eyes are filled with a raging anguish similar to the one when his dad died. And Henry simply looks confused and terrified.

Judy would have been better at this.

She sends them off to get breakfast while she bathes in the bathroom her sons share. She doesn’t think she can handle seeing the stark handprints in hers yet. Then she proceeds to scrub at her skin until they are red and raw. But the feeling of blood lingers, and she has to forcibly stop herself before she draws even more. She steps out. Shivers in the morning air. At least the smell is gone even if the sensation still claws at her face and fingers.

Fully dressed in fresh clothes, Jen feels relatively more human than an hour ago. By the time, she’s ready to go, the living room has been cleaned of all blood. Charlie refuses to look her in the eye, but he hugs her so tightly, Jen barely stops herself from bursting into tears again.

He whispers _please bring Judy home_ into her ear, and it’s all Jen can do to keep standing. She nods, kisses him on the head, and then opens her other arm to let Henry in the hug too. Even tangled together like this, Jen feels the hole left by Judy’s absence. Her rage briefly bubbles at the unfairness of it all - before deflating from sheer exhaustion. She does not have the energy to be mad anymore.

All in all, it takes over an hour and a half for Jen to follow Judy to the hospital. By the time she steps into the lobby, Jen feels like keeling over already. But she isn’t about to leave Judy now. Not after everything. She remembers the pain in Judy’s cries last night - the sound of her self-loathing practically seared into Jen’s brain. No, Jen is definitely not going _anywhere_ that isn’t by Judy’s side.

The nurse ushers her into a tiny sterile room. A doctor meets her outside, face looking very grim, and Jen’s stomach plummets to her toes. A stone lodges itself in her throat, and it’s all she can do to keep her breathing steady and even. Even so, dark spots flash over her vision, and before she knows it, the doc is ushering her to a seat on the side.

Judy looks so small in the huge bed. With her splinted nose and her split lip, no amount of smiling could have made Jen feel better. Bruises have also begun to form around her eyes and on her cheeks. There are bandages on her knuckles and tubes connected to IVs of who knows what. Two of her fingers on her right hand are splinted too.

Jen’s blood freezes at the sight of them. How hard did Judy fucking attack herself to _break_ _her own fucking fingers_?! Jen is shaking again, and she’s so fucking glad she’s sitting down because her knees might actually fucking collapse this time. A small ugly part in the back of her head wants to take Judy by the shoulder. To shake her until she sees fucking sense again. Wants to yell and curse and _rage_. 

But the bigger part? She wants to watch Judy’s eyes flutter open. Thinks she’d only truly start breathing then. _Fuck._

“Is she okay?” 

The doctor nods. “Miss Hale got very lucky. She’s dislocated a few fingers, but we’re mostly concerned about this head injury being so close to her last one. That and, of course, the self-harming behavior. We’ll need to monitor both for a few days, but her prognosis looks hopeful for the most part.”

The doctor proceeds to ask questions about Judy’s health history, staying calm and professional all throughout. Jen, for her part, answers almost robotically. She feels a distant relief that she knows the answers at all. A month ago, she wouldn’t have. And even now, Jen realizes that she doesn’t know enough. Anger simmers in her chest, and suddenly she feels fit to burst from all the fire and brimstone lodged in her fucking chest. 

Suddenly, the doctor’s stupid, understanding tone makes Jen wants to punch his nose in. It’s a struggle to keep her breathing even and her neck heats up even then. Her entire skin starts prickling at his fucking presence. She wants to yell and break shit, and it takes all of her willpower to grab a pillow and squeeze that instead of doing something stupid like fucking stabbing the doctor who’s only trying to help. She has no clue how long she can sit here without going ape-shit. The questions are inane, and everything simultaneously feels too fucking stupid and too fucking much. 

Jen snaps her answers, her temper fraying no matter how many times she counts to ten. Then the doctor pauses. In a voice so gentle it made her grind her teeth, he asks “Has Miss Hale attempted suicide before?”

And just like that, Jen deflates. 

In the span of a single breath, all the fight leaves her body. She thinks about Judy’s confession, about the dreams that have been plaguing her in the months since. She whispers a soft _yes_ , and her stomach lurches at the reminder of her own fucking cowardice. The doctor nods, says a few parting words before leaving her alone in the room with only a sleeping Judy for company.

In the silence, Jen’s heart weighs even heavier than before, and it only takes a moment more before her willpower crumbles. She reaches out for Judy’s hand, taking care not to nudge the tubes and splints. Her touch is feather-light as she traces the bandages around Judy’s knuckles, but it’s not enough. There is too much space between them, and it’s eating Jen from inside out. She wraps her fingers around Judy’s wrist, savoring the warmth of her skin. Judy’s pulse is an assurance, and slowly, Jen exhales.

She updates the boys, and she can hear their relief even from across the phone. With a pang of guilt, she realizes that she hadn’t passed Henry’s _I love you_ just yet. It will be the first thing Judy hears when she wakes up, Jen swears. The lilt of his voice soothes Jen just a little, and she takes comfort where she can. When the call ends her soul is lighter - not light enough to breathe, no, but lighter nonetheless.

It’s still early in the day, but Jen is much too exhausted to keep her eyes open for much longer. So she rests her head on the bed, and she falls asleep, Judy’s heartbeat right at her fingertips.

\------

It takes an entire day before Judy is coherent enough to talk. The doctors ask her question after question. There are more silences than answers, and Jen gets after question 3 that Judy is a _terrible_ patient in all the worst ways. They send Jen out eventually, but “sorry”, “okay”, and “fine” have long since stopped sounding like words by then.

She paces back and forth in front of the door, and it’s all she can do to not scream and kick at the walls. She wants to get back in there. Wants to be there for Judy in the same way Judy had always been there for her. She knows _why_ they need her to be outside, is even thankful for it remembering the kind of shithead Steve was. But it’s not enough. 

Jen can’t stop replaying the way Judy looked on the gurney. Or how she kept hitting herself. Or the way her voice sounded when she confessed to almost _killing herself_ all those months ago. Today felt like a series of close calls, and the feeling of blood on her hands is much too fresh to just fucking forget. No matter how much she tells herself otherwise, Jen simply can’t convince her brain that Judy is finally _safe_. Especially with Judy out of her sight. 

The doctors eventually let her back in. They brief her on what Judy’s treatment will look like, spent a good ten minutes talking about medication and therapy and fucking _suicide watches_. Jen’s stomach churns at the confirmation of her biggest fears. When they finally leave, and it’s only her and Judy left, the silence is almost deafening.

She takes a deep breath and turns around. Then her heart leaps into her throat because while Judy’s nose is no longer swollen and her face is clean of blood, her eyes look cold and dead. 

Her best friend looks much too small in the huge bed, and it takes all of Jen’s self-control not to reach out and just hold her. She looks hollowed out. Exhaustion radiates from each twitch, each blink, each breath. Still, Judy tries to smile, but she can only manage a pained grimace. And even then her gaze is so far away, Jen wonders if she’s seeing her at all.

She walks over slowly. She sits on the couch. Hesitates. And then she sets her hand where Judy can reach. Her heart is hammering in her chest, and the air feels thin around her. Her best friend is staring into thin air, bruised and wounded from her own fists, and all Jen can think is that she deserves _much_ better than this - than her. But Jen is all she’s got right now, so until Judy tells her to go away, she will stay.

“Judy?” she whispers. “The doctor says you’re gonna be okay.” 

“It doesn’t feel like it. Fuck, I hate this time of the year.” Her voice is so quiet and flat, Jen barely manages to hear her. But hear her she does, and Jen’s stomach drops at the implications of what Judy just confessed.

She wills her voice not to shake. “This happened before?” 

Judy looks at her and the emptiness in her gaze changes into anguish. Then she leans back and closes her eyes. As if that’d ever be enough to stop the tears from falling. And fall it does. A single tear slides down her cheek, and Jen wipes it away without even thinking.

“Every single fucking year, Jen. I’m sorry you had to - to just -”

“No, Judy! Listen to me!” And god, fuck personal space. Jen grabs Judy's hand - the one without splints - and holds it tightly. “I’m fucking _glad_ I was there, okay? Really goddamn glad, Judy!”

“ _What_?” 

“You should have _never_ gone through any of this all alone!” And the words are both breathless and desperate, Jen desperately begging Judy to understand. “You deserve to be taken care of. Always. I _don’t regret_ being there for you!” 

She looks so fucking lost, and god, Jen’s heart shatters. Judy’s tears are falling freely now, and she’s gaping at Jen as if she grew two heads. As if anyone wanting to take care of her was so fucking _unbelievable_. Jen desperately tries to push the anger away, but it’s getting harder and harder. Judy deserves so much better, and people keep fucking _failing_ her!

“I - um… thank you.” Her voice goes high, and her eyes widen in panic. “Are you - are you okay? Last night must have been scary. And are the boys okay? I’m so sorry about all of thi-”

“Judy, stop! Just take a deep breath, okay?” Because Jesus Christ, the woman has two black eyes and can barely breathe through her nose, but of _fucking_ course, she’s already trying to take care of everyone else! “Look, stop thinking about me or the boys or anyone else just yet, okay? Just - just let us take care of _you_ for once. Please?”

“I’m fine now! It’s all okay now, I swear!” But even as she says that, her eyes and shoulders are already fucking drooping further. “It’s not usually this bad, and I promise I won’t let it get this bad again! You really don’t have to worry about me, Jen! You’ve already got so much on your plate - you don’t have to take care of me too!”

She tries for a smile again, but she only manages a grimace pulling the stitches on her lip. Jen’s blood boils even further. Judy’s words are running together because of her nose and lip, and still, she is fucking trying to comfort her! What the fuck would it take to get Judy to take her own fucking health seriously?! How in hell can she claim that everything is fucking fine when she can still barely fucking breathe because _she broke her own fucking nose?!_

For the millionth time today, Jen wants to _punch_ something. Jen inhales. Exhales. Inhales again. Wills the anger to stay buried. 

It’s _not_ fucking working.

“Do you expect me to wait until you fucking try and kill yourself _again_ before I’m allowed to be fucking concerned about you?!” 

Jen wants to shake Judy until she sees some fucking sense. She’s shaking from anger. Suddenly, the too-sterile room is too small and her skin is hot and prickling. The bruises around Judy’s eyes have turned an ugly purple over the last few hours, and it’s a goddamn fucking stark reminder of how terrible things were just fucking _hours_ ago. 

“You dislocated your fucking fingers breaking your own fucking nose!” Jen’s voice breaks. The anger bleeds out, and all she’s left with is the helplessness and desperation. She moves from the couch to Judy’s bedside. Looks Judy in the eye. 

And begs. 

“Please. Please, Judy… just - just let us love you?”

“Jen -”

“Henry told me to tell you he loves you. And Charlie’s been slaving over the stove because he’s afraid I’d poison you. They love you so much, and _I_ can’t even imagine anymore what my life would look like without you.”

Judy looks thunderstruck. It’s like she’s holding her breath or waiting for the other shoe to drop. There’s a smile threatening to bloom on her face, but her eyes are wide and terrified. And by god, if they fucking get through this, Jen swears she’ll love Judy hard enough that she’ll never have to see that look of wonder again.

“You’re not okay. You haven’t been for a really long time now, and I was so scared of what that meant, I said nothing.” And Jen still remembers the blood on her hands. “I’m done saying nothing, Jude.”

“It’s not your fault -” 

“I know it’s fucking not, Jude -” which is a huge fucking lie because while last night wasn’t her fault, the last one certainly was “- but that doesn’t matter now.”

Jen falls quiet. She takes a hitching breath before cupping Judy’s cheeks, keeping her touch feather-light for fear of hurting her more than she already has. Her eyes are getting too swollen to open properly now, but she makes sure Judy’s looking into her eyes anyway. Jen _needs_ to make sure Judy understands.

“I love you, Judy - too much to let you do this alone.” And Jen hopes to hell that Judy believes her because she does not have much left to offer. “ _Please_. Just let us love you.”

And there’s a beat of silence before Judy leans in for a hug, and Jen can feel her nod against her shoulder. Her shirt is getting wet, this time with her friend’s tears, but she hears Judy’s _okay_ and it feels like she can breathe again.

When the time comes, she’ll take Judy home.


End file.
